


cat got your tongue

by PersephoneHemingway



Series: bond, baby [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Headcanon, Honeypot, Injury, Kidnapping, Not Canon Compliant, Reader is Bond's daughter, Reader with a nickname, Reader-Insert, Self-Indulgent, Spies & Secret Agents, a series of short related scenes, made-up assassin organizations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 23:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19037500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersephoneHemingway/pseuds/PersephoneHemingway
Summary: In which you are a former member of an organization that takes the illegitimate children from all those spy escapades and turns them into assassins. You have a connection with the one & only 007.





	cat got your tongue

**Author's Note:**

> hello i’ve been on a spy kick for the past few years or so, and apparently i write fanfiction now, so this was born out of pure self-indulgence. sometimes i use google, and sometimes i make shit up. enjoy?

_MI6 Headquarters, London, England._

The moment you spotted him you knew you were going to have to make a break for it.

The moment he spotted you, you were fucked.

&

Wrong place, wrong time: same old story.

You were pulled in to MI6 as part of a group of witnesses to an op gone wrong. You were sitting among the others in front of an office waiting to be pulled for a debrief (and likely a confidentiality lecture).

You’d been quiet and unassuming until a man in a heated negotiation with an MI6 operative noticed you and stopped dead mid-power-walk.

“Oh, Cat. We've been looking for you, you know.” He had a familiar look in his eye—it meant he intended to shoot you.

You responded automatically, rolling your swivel chair into him, hitting him with a nearby lamp, punching him, stealing his gun, and shooting him in the leg before fleeing down hallways and dodging security.

Eventually, you’re caught trying to climb up into the vents in a dead-end room. _You really should’ve made a left instead of a right, Cat._

They drag you into interrogation and drill you, but you say nothing.

You didn’t hurt any of their own, so they couldn’t justify torture—they take your fingerprints to try and figure out who you are and what to do with you. Your fingerprints come back with no matches, so they come back to distract you long enough for a blood sample. _Fuck, Cat, you couldn’t see that coming?_ You crouch in the corner of the room with your head in your hands, waiting for the inevitable.

Imagine MI6’s shock when your blood pings back through the system with a 50% DNA match to James Bond—everyone flips their shit, realizing you must be “one of those legacy kids kidnapped and trained by Lamá.”

“What’s Lamá?”

“Some underground Swiss organization that tracks down the illegitimate children of spies and geniuses and raises them into perfect little assassins.”

“No shit?”

“Wouldn’t there be more Bonds, then?” The question came out like a crack, but Eve was also a bit serious.

“Surprisingly, no—I was the only one.” You walked up to the tail end of the conversation. “Granted, many of the other women they tracked down were no longer living, let alone pregnant…”

&

Lamá agents, active or former, were famous for their lack of allegiance to any particular nation, and it seemed you were in need of employment. M figured if you were going to pick any country to hang around with semi-permanently, it might as well be England. At least you had some vague connection there. It was enough for you (you weren’t a hard sell).

“We’d like to use you to take down Lamá, if you’re interested.”

You stared for a moment or two before saying “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

&

“So you want to send the Bonds off to take down Lamá with Cat's insider info?”

“Yes, but first she’ll need to be tested and declared field ready.”

“…Who’s going to tell Bond?”

&

M sat behind his desk addressing Bond, who was standing in the center of the room.

“Have you heard of an organization called Lamá?”

Bond had a bad feeling about this.

&

“I have a _what_?”

“A daughter.”

“A daughter?”

“Yes, Bond.”

“And she’s here?”

“That’s right.”

“And?”

“We’ve offered her a deal, or, a mission, I should say. She blew through the qualification tests. She’ll be on as a provisionary agent until it’s complete. A private contractor, of sorts.”

Bond stays silent.

“I’m telling you this because you know we’re going to end up pairing her with you for her probationary period, right?”

“No.”

“Bond, she was essentially trained to be your double. Your skills are near equivalent dismissing your difference in experience. It’s going to be you before any other agent, and you know it.”

Bond glared at M, knowing he was going to lose this one. He turned on his heel and left.

&

_In an office, over Skype._

M called in a favor from an associate with an ex-Lamá contact to dig up more information on “Cat Bond.”

"Woah, Catamaran? She got out alive? Damn. She had it worse than most in Lamá. Cat was Madrigal's prodigy—teacher’s pet—well, before she shot him and took off. She _knew_ shit. You know, she was running field ops before she was ten. Do you know what you have to do to someone to make them capable of running field ops at ten?"

&

_MI6 Headquarters, Q-Branch._

You were on to your weapons brief with Q. There were guns on the table.

"I trust you already have a thigh holster?" You nodded.

He waved his hand across the table of guns.

“Preferences?”

“Uh, got a Sig Sauer P210 by chance? Or something similar? Lost mine jumping a bridge… otherwise one of these will work fine.”

“You want accuracy, then?”

You nodded.

“I’ve got something in the back I think you’ll appreciate.”

Q returned with a P210 and ‘something special’ he’d been ‘cooking up in the back.’

“You can take both and see what you think—(but I’ll tell you now mine’s better).” Q winked.

“Eh, if you say it’s better, I’ll trust your homebrew. If I don’t like it I’ll come back to switch.”

Q smiled, and then his face sobered. “Please just… bring it back in one piece…”

“Will try, Q-tie pie.”

Bond was side-eying you with something far less than enthusiasm.

You raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”

"The last thing I need is some kid pulling on my shirtsleeves."

"Not psyched to be stuck with you either, old man." You stuffed the gun in its holster, threw it over your shoulder and stalked out.

"You sure she really passed as field ready?"

"Absolutely. In fact, did you hear she passed at double-oh standards? You should really give us 'kids' more credit."

&

_On a fast train to Milan, Italy._

You sat across from each other in the train compartment staring at each other.

“So. (Y/N), yes? Or do you prefer Cat?”

You keep staring. A sigh.

"Something, kitten, just give me something here." _Kitten? Well shit, okay._ You looked him dead in the face.

"I fucking hate trains." His eye twitched in amusement as he tried his best not to react. Of course you noticed, and shot back a shy smile.

&

_An unassuming office building in Frankfurt, Germany._

You were warming up to each other. Begrudgingly. After your probationary mission with Bond, he decides you’re competent. He at least tolerates you being around.

You can’t help but want to impress him—so you just keep doing your job.

You were running point all through the first floor, only needing to fire off a shot or two to clear the rooms.

You crooked your head back. "So, by now I know you're not testing me, so why'm I still on point?"

"You're quicker." No nonsense.

"Oh." Surprise. "Really, I was expecting you to say something like 'you're disposable,' so uh, thanks."

"You say that like my opinion means something."

"Well, I guess it means a little."

Smirks all around.

They ran the corner back and kicked through the doors. Most of the room was already dead. You went to check pulses while Bond searched the bodies you left behind. You had three men left when one lunged for an abandoned gun. You cracked down on his hand with one foot and sent the gun skittering with a kick from the other. Before you could incapacitate him, the arm of a different man pulled you to the ground and wrestled you for your pistol. Two shots from Bond and all that was left was one dead man cradling his broken hand, and another dead man's weight you had to roll out from under.

"I'll check the last guy, if you don't mind."

"No, yeah, go ahead. Good call."

She picked herself up.

&

_New York City, New York._

That morning he'd seen you in an oversized purple "I <3 NY" sweatshirt, biker shorts, and running shoes with your hair in a pony, hands wrapped up and ready to fight.

Looking at you now, he had no doubts you were a wicked honeypot comparable even to a legend such as himself. The whole of you read _agent provocatrice_.

You were bathed in jewel-toned velvet hugging your curves like a second skin. Your hair waterfalled down your open back and a careful string of diamonds dipped between your breasts. Your lips were blood and your teeth could cut. Just enough leg peeked out to hypnotize, and your stilettos were definitely as sharp as their namesake knife.

"Oh, kitten. I must admit I was worried, but you really are-"

"Gorgeous? I know."

"Well, I was going to say stunning."

&

_In the parking garage of a Southeast Asian city with no traffic laws._

"Bond I've gotta tell you something."

"This doesn't sound good."

"I'm a terrible driver."

"Get in the passenger's seat, now."

"Yes, boss. I'm probably a better shot than you, anyway."

"Don't push it, kitten."

&

_A sketchy airfield in Eastern Europe._

You're heading to exfil (as stowaways in the hull of a cargo plane) when there's a showdown on the airfield.

You're shot in the left shoulder, just under your collarbone and Bond's dragging you out of there as your ears ring.

"Wh-What about the-?"

"Took care of him." You were clutching at your shoulder desperately and lost your balance into Bond upon standing.

"Hey, hey, c'mon let's go."

You're doing everything in your power to put on a face like it doesn't hurt, but your pained gasps keep cracking through. 

"You don't have to keep a poker face for me kid, I know it hurts."

You let out a keening whine that collapsed into a dry sob as you dropped your chin to your chest.

"You go down easy, huh?"

"'S why'm so quick. Get hit once 'nd I'm out."

"At least you can take a punch."

"Not very well though, I must admit."

"Yeah, you could do better."

"Ha."

You shared a companionable silence and the occasional sharp inhale.

"You've got a great poker face, you know."

"You should see me play poker."

"I'm sure you'd suck the table dry."

"Even you?"

"I don't doubt you'd give me a run for my money."

"Wow, I'm flattered."

"You really should be."

&

_Liverpool, England._

A situation escalated with a kidnapped parliament member, and Q had traced the coordinates to a large warehouse on the pier right next to where you’d taken Bond to try _the best damn fish n’ chips you’ve ever had_ for lunch.

Ah, coincidences.

You called the team in to evacuate the hostages and ran with Bond through a partition into the back of the warehouse.

You entered, and someone was clearly expecting you.

"Ah, (Y/N) Bond."

Your face morphed from sour to fury. Your voice could kill.

" _How did you get that name?"_

Another man stepped in from your peripheral.

“Oh, just from little old me…”

And then everything was ringing as if a bomb had gone off.

The last voice you ever wanted to hear was back.

The whisper in your ear from the moment you could walk—on the mats, between the mirrors, in the field…

He was saying more, but you were long gone.

Somewhere deep, your brain registered men arguing, a gun raising, goons swarming in, backup arriving, shots firing, but you were still fixated on a voice from a mouth you were _sure_ you’d shot six-feet-under. You were in a hell of a rush, but you saw the blood; you checked his pulse. He was dead when you left Lamá, he was dead. You killed him, he was supposed to be dead. He was dead, Madrigal was dead. You got out, you were supposed to have gotten out. You—

The next thing you knew you hit the ground, head cracking against the concrete (that had to be a concussion, it was textbook). You were pulled behind a loaded palette of some sort as Bond fired back at whoever initiated the gunfight.

Where were you again?

&

It seemed this had turned into the mission you’d been contracted for.

(It later came back that all the hostages were legacy recruits in some way. The parliament guy was just an unlucky witness).

Again, coincidences.

Your panic was setting in and you were losing control.

_He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead._

Bond wrapped his arms around you and held you tight to his chest. He leaned down to whisper in your ear.

"Shh, hey, just breathe, kitten, and listen to my heartbeat. Cat, stay calm."

You were trying, you were really trying.

"Take your time, fall back into your focus."

Your breathing started to settle.

"That's it, good girl. Focus on my heartbeat and match yours. You're efficient. One of the best. You're cold. You're exquisite. You are filled to bursting with diamonds. You will kill that man, and we will get out of here alive. Now cock your gun, and repeat it all back to me."

Your shaking hands slowly stilled as you pulled your gun and set it ready to fire. You looked at yourself holding it.

"I'm efficient. I'm cold. Like ice. I'm exquisite—filled to bursting with diamonds. I'm gonna kill Madrigal, again, and we're gonna get the fuck out of here still living. Because I'm the goddamn best."

"Good, (Y/N). Let's go."

&

The mission was done but you stuck around a little longer—for M, you said—to make sure the Lamá leadership was really down, and whatever the remaining legacies rose up in its place (as was inevitable) wasn’t just as bad or worse. Plus, I mean, you needed the work.

It was good enough for M.

Mostly, you weren’t really ready to leave when you didn’t have anywhere else to go.

&

_The closest bar to MI6, London, England._

Cat signaled the bartender to bring shots of whatever they'd previously discussed for the table. Eve leaned in and recoiled immediately at the strength of the smell.

"Dear god, what's in this, Baby Bond?"

She deadpanned. "Just take the bloody shot."

Eve gaped and choked on a laugh. "Oh, you're awful, you're absolutely awful!"

The table laughed and slammed down Cat's preferred brand of liver disease, already anticipating their regret.

They coughed, and sputtered.

"This is horrendous."

"Cat, this is essentially rubbing alcohol."

"Worst thing I've ever put in my mouth."

"You wanted to know what I shoot when I'm kicking off a field op and I complied. The rest is your own fault."

"You really need to chug paint thinner to get the job done?"

"Nah, but it makes it a lot easier to pretend I'm someone else with a taste of this gasoline garbage. It gets me cloudy enough to be an actress and keeps me uncomfortable enough to remember I'm on a mission. It took a while to perfect the formula."

"And.. what is it exactly? Do I even want to know?"

“Well, it involves pickle juice, hot sauce, cheap tequila—"

A round of groans, frowns and disgust.

"If it makes it any better, I usually swap to strawberry daiquiris after my warm up.

"Okay, so you don't totally hate yourself."

&

_Vienna, Austria._

Bond pulls at the black plastic self-defense cat on your keychain.

“Really?”

“Hey, don’t judge. It suits me, yeah?”

“Or do you have it because you can’t hit very hard?”

“Ha, ha.” You went back to sipping on your milkshake.

You were sitting together at a small café table in wire-back chairs, waiting. You were in an oversized sweatshirt. You needed to kill time. Your straw dropped from your lips.

"You wanna see me turn it on?"

"Hm? Your honey?"

"Yeah. I told you it was like flipping a switch, you wanted to see?"

"I mean, go for it."

She smirked. She straightened up, leaned back leisurely, shook her hair out, and crossed one leg over the other. Immediately heads started to turn, no longer buried in other distractions.

Bond was actually impressed.

&

_A high-risk weapons deal masquerading as a charity event in Paris, France._

You scanned the room for your mark, found him, and starred working the room while keeping him in the corner of your eye. You walked toward a tray of deviled eggs and plucked one up. As you popped it in your mouth, a flute of champagne appeared in front of your face. The hand that held it belonged to one double-oh seven.

You turned into his arm and took the offered glass, clinking it against his own. You both sipped.

"We're not after the same mark, are we Bond?"

"Mm, doubtful. I'm sleuthing general intelligence. You look like you're dripping honey." You glanced down at your plunging neckline and shrugged. "The tall one with the glasses? Your 5 o'clock?"

"He's the one."

"I'll see what I can do to get you an in. Not that you really need it." He winked and pushed his elbows off the cocktail table. "I'll find you with another drink in an hour."

"Thanks. I'll let you know if I hear anything suspicious."

&

_In a hotel just outside of Paris, France._

Early morning.

Bond's been waiting for the shower to turn off for a while, and he was getting impatient. He came up to the bathroom door and knocked.

"You wouldn't mind if I came in to shave, would you."

A pause, and a soft, sleepy voice slipping past the noise of the water. "I don't mind."

He entered and pulled his straight razor and other miscellaneous shaving items from a travel toiletries pouch. He mused out loud.

"You take an awfully long time in the shower."

"Mm."

"What is it you're washing off?"

You were struck silent. You were fully awake.

"Bond."

"We all ha-"

"Don't.” You popped your head out past the shower curtain, face scrubbed red raw. “I don't need your 'words of wisdom,' _father._ I'm a big bad killer just like you, doesn't mean we have to talk about it."

He nodded, and you slipped back behind the curtain.

You turned off the water.

“Do you need a towel?”

You, softly: “Yes, please.”

You stepped out wrapped in the towel with your arms crossed over your chest to your shoulders. You looked to Bond and dipped your chin before leaving the bathroom.

&

_Grand Casino Luzern, Lucerne, Switzerland._

He’d finally had a chance to take you up on that poker game.

All he knew was your eyes on his, and then you'd walked them out with a pot of over 4 million pounds.

"I'd convinced them I was looking to you for cues. They never even saw me coming."

&

_London, England._

You're called in to pull Bond out of a deal gone wrong, fight your way through the house until you find him beaten up and bloody leaning against a wall. His arm is broken.

"There's a target in the next room."

"On it." A door was locked down and someone was shot. You went back to Bond and kneeled. "How is it?"

"I've had worse."

You clicked your tongue and pulled a knife. You set your gun down. "Watch my six, yeah?" He nodded. You began cutting at his suit sleeves, tutting at his look of dismay. "We'll properly mourn the suit when you're not in the home of a mafia associate. I'll even help you pick a replacement."

"So kind, (Y/N)."

"Mm." With the jacket and shirt sleeves and other things you had on hand, you fashioned Bond an arm sling before you slung him over your shoulder to haul him out of there. You cocked the gun between your chin and chest and weaved your way through the body count.

A man on the floor groaned and reached out an arm, so you shot him immediately. Bond gave you a look and you sighed.

"The last time I let someone live left like that I very much regretted it. You're hurt; I couldn't risk it."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Cat."

The two of you hobbled your way down to a bus stop.

"You still doing alright?"

Bond grunted in affirmation.

They got on the bus, and traveled with no incident (but with quite a few odd looks).

&

It was once you were well past the entrance and on the way to medical that Bond realized you'd just casually entered MI6 without any assistance or subterfuge.

"Since when do you have no-hassle access?"

"Haven't you heard? I'm the new Double-Oh Four."

It was the rarest thing to see Bond smile. "You're staying."

"Yeah, I guess MI6 is as good a place as any for someone of my.. talents." So nonchalant. "You, Q, Eve, Alec, Tanner, M... You're not all _so_ bad. I don't mind being around you. I figured I could _bear_ to stick around a little longer."

Bond tugged you into his side and leaned his head to yours. 

"I suppose you can keep tagging along, if you must." A companionable, affectionate quiet settled between you. Right before the doors to medical slid open, he pressed a _thank you_ kiss to your temple. You nudged him into the room.


End file.
